New Flights to Helicon
by Askja1907
Summary: When Sigrid is saved from the Laketown fire by Fili, she knows nothing will be the same for her again. And nothing will be right until he returns to her. So when she learns of his death, she seeks out the elf Tauriel, and together they try to find an answer to their heartbreak. But why does she keep dreaming of a burning wreck? And what is waiting for her at the bottom of the lake?
1. Connections

**Author Note:  
** I have a bit of an obsession with mystery stories - like actual, true mystery stories. And so the story of the disappearing BSAA planes is one I read about years ago, and I always thought there was something uniquely creepy about it.

So I wrote this story after spending too much time at the gym listening to an album by one of my favourite bands, the Delays. The album is called 'Star Tiger, Star Ariel' - feeding my obsession makes the treadmill more bearable! What I have also done, is splice it with another story that has a overly sad, tragic ending and mixed them together in some kind of weird, Hobbit-based, sci-fi concoction. And I've tried to give both elements a happy ending this time round.

I've kept the names of the actual flight crew in this story - these were real, historical people and I've tried to keep the details as true to reality as possible. And where the details were unknown, I've used my imagination...

* * *

 **New Flights to Helicon**

 **Chapter One: Connections**

As the Avro Tudor IV approached the Kindley Field tarmac, Captain John McPhee finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

The first engine had failed shortly after they'd crossed their Point of No Alternative, somewhere 18,000 feet over the North Atlantic, and although his faith in the beautiful silver bird he flew was complete – he knew that others on the aircraft remained sceptical.

Ever since the disappearance of the _Star Tiger_ – almost a year ago to the day now – the knives had been out for the Tudor aircraft – and the parent airline itself. People had cast disparaging comments about the way the British South American Airways staff had handled the whole affair, and McPhee knew all too well that another incident could bury the lot of them.

Nevertheless, as he glided the plane westwards onto the runway, something made him cast a final glimpse into the dark, moonless sky above him – as if checking the familiar constellations were still there. A strange sensation fluttered past his heart, and his blue eyes flicked to the aircraft's gauges to make sure nothing was amiss.

McPhee was an experienced fighter pilot. He'd learned to fly under the tutelage of the RNZAF, and had flown numerous bombing raids behind enemy lines in Germany and Burma. The young, blond Kiwi was considered by all who knew him to be one of the best his airline – or any other airline – had.

Yet even as he raised the wing flaps and the plane began to slow, he knew the danger lingered on. Not here, and not now – but it was coming. But so far, it was still hidden from view.

He had long ago learnt to trust his intuition, and something – some motion in the stars, perhaps – told him there was trouble ahead. The broken engine wasn't the cause.

He knew it on instinct.

With a frown, McPhee drew the _Star Lion_ into the hangar bay, and stared solemnly from the cockpit window out to the East, regarding the sliver of blue sky on the ocean horizon that heralded the approach of the rising sun.

And with a shiver, he wished he was far from this place – on another shore, on another island, on another ocean – as long as it was far from this coming day.

* * *

And on another shoreline, far away from the North Atlantic squalls but under similar stars...

There were flames. And there was burning.

The torched birch and burnt tar mingled bitterly in smoking sheets as jets of fire clawed higher at the moonless night sky.

And a multitude of fearful eyes watched in awe as Laketown was taken by the fire.

The blaze was alive, roaring and rumbling as it consumed whole buildings and boats, licking and scratching at the water's edge with fierce, hissing fingers – no doubt trying its hardest to reach those survivors on the beach. Those that had somehow escaped its blistering grip and made it across the chill waters of the lake to the dark pebble beach that sat bathed in flickering light.

One of the young women beheld the fire as if hypnotised – her pale eyes watching with a becalmed curiosity as the features of her home town were rubbed out from history, one by one, while the heat of their passing left her cheeks flushed with a ghostly warmth.

Maybe that was why she hadn't noticed her ankles were wet – or that even now – she was slowly walking towards the fire, fascinated by the way the fiery flames were singing in forbidden, foreign tongues as they burned her town away.

Maybe if she could touch them, she could reason with them – or at least understand why they were taking such exquisite enjoyment in such reckless destruction...

"Come away, Sigrid."

She felt a hand on her arm, and blinked in surprise. She knew who it was, at her back – but why were her feet wet?

"Come on – come with me. Let's get you warm again."

With an understanding that came more from her body than her mind, the woman allowed herself to be turned away from the inferno.

Dazed by the darkness of the beach behind her, her eyes quickly found the flames again – reflected in the wells of the dwarf's blue eyes.

She stared at him in confusion, and saw the worry on his face as he gave her arm a gentle squeeze and motioned towards dry land.

"It's all gone, Fili. What do I do now?"

She heard herself speak without thinking, and saw the small blond's face turn back to hers – uncertainty in those bright, proud, eyes.

She took a step towards him, and realised he was standing in the cold lake water too – waiting patiently for her to come to her senses and heed his advice.

Feeling foolish, she hurried out of the water, and cast him a rueful sideways smile. Free of the spell, Sigrid felt a sudden chill. She was beyond exhausted – and cold – but Fili was beside her still, taking off his blue cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders, shuffling closer to her as he did so.

"Sigrid, you're safe – and so are your family. That's all that matters." Fili waved at the ghastly light. "All that's been lost can be replaced. It can be rebuilt." He looked her in the eye again, offering her a sympathetic smile. "We'll all help each other now."

She nodded, trying her best to be brave for him – after all he'd done for her and her family this night, she didn't want him to think she was some weak and silly-minded girl. But she felt the cold tear roll down her flushed face nonetheless, and closed her eyes in dismay.

To her surprise, the dwarf pulled her close, holding her gently while the tears rolled silent down her face. He might have only stood as tall as her shoulders, but she leant herself into him without question, and was surprised how safe she felt in his strong, muscled embrace.

And she was surprised how good it felt to be close to him.

She could feel the warmth of his body running into hers, and found herself inhaling the dry, smoky scent that clung to his blond hair.

It was oddly alluring.

He'd risked a fiery death to save her and her family many times tonight – and she knew that he would do it again, without hesitation. And without expecting anything in return.

He was a real hero.

While all she could do was stand around and cry.

Bending her head low to him, she murmured into his ear. "Let me help _you_ rebuild your home, Fili. I owe you that."

He tilted his head up towards hers, and sighed. "You don't owe me anything, Sigrid. I'm sorry for the trouble we've brought to your door. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

He looked at her again with those clear, blue eyes, and Sigrid felt a startled sensation in her chest. She didn't want to break away from his gaze, but somehow she had to – his face was so close to hers and she was unsure what it was she wanted to do.

"That's a deal then, Fili."

She smiled at him, and he seemed to relax. He loosened his hold on her, and took her by the hand.

"Come back with me, and let's get you dry."

She let him lead her to the high ground at the top of the beach, out of reach of even the wildest waves, and saw her sister playing at a pile of burning logs with the red-haired elf and Fili's dark and handsome brother.

Tilda seemed enchanted by the elf's long, red hair – she was holding one of the elf's braids in her hands, brushing it against her cheek and laughing. Sigrid smiled at the scene, and shook her head in disbelief.

"I hope she's not bothering you too much there. She has a thing for long hair – she's always grabbing at it!"

The elf shrugged. "Elven children are the same. I guess I must just have nicer hair than Kili here."

Beside her at the fire, the dwarf grinned. "I think she's just intrigued by the colour. It's not really a common shade to see on elves – or women, for that matter. Maybe you have some dwarfish ancestry?" He raised his eyebrow, and was rewarded by a withering look from Tauriel.

"Don't you start as well. I had enough of that growing up in Mirkwood."

At her older sister's approach, the little girl dropped the auburn plait and jumped to her feet. "Siggy? Where's Dad? I want to see him!"

Sigrid scanned the beach, uncertain herself where her father had gone. She'd seen him around earlier, with her brother – but she knew she'd have to find them both soon, before they got worried.

"Okay, we'll go and find him, Tillie." She motioned to her sister, and the girl came half-staggering round the fire to meet her. Sigrid could see how tired she was, and hoped her father had found a shelter for the night.

She turned back to Fili, unsure how to say goodbye to him – and feeling unexpectedly torn.

She didn't want to say goodbye.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" She tried to sound casual, but she suspected even her little sister could hear the hope in her voice.

But the dwarf shook his head. "Kili and I must leave for the Mountain. We set off at first light."

He glanced up at the dark peak – as it shrouded the stars from view with its vast, jagged bulk – and his voice grew hoarse. "I need to find my uncle. He might have been hurt."

Sigrid understood. She knew why he had to leave. But she didn't want to let him get away so easily.

"But you will come back... won't you?"

He met her gaze, and she could see the uncertainty for a moment in his worried, blue eyes – but the nod her gave her was resolute, and she knew he meant to return.

"Of course – I'll help you get settled in Dale. Nothing will stop me coming back, to see you." He held her eyes for a second longer than he should have, before breaking off to stare at the ground. "And your father," he added quickly.

Sigrid nodded, still not satisfied – but keenly aware of the others watching them from the fireside. "I'll look forward to it." She murmured softly – soft enough that he could hear, and no one else.

Then before she could change her mind, she turned away from him, and nodded towards his companions around the fire.

"Thanks for everything, and good luck with your quest."

And then she was shooing little Tilda away – reaching for her hand and walking away from the gentle warmth of Fili and the campfire, striding blindly across the dark beach, without a clue as to where she was going.

There were pockets of people all over the shoreline, as far as the eye could see. Some of them sat around lit campfires, but some just lay huddled together on the cold pebbles, too exhausted to even light a hearth. She tried to peer at their faces, searching for her father and brother – or for her friends and neighbours.

Anyone who might know where her family were.

But in the end, it was Tilda who spied them. Sigrid herself could barely see straight, and wondered if she was still spellbound by the flames.

The ones she'd seen shining in Fili's eyes.

"Look, Siggy– they're over there!"Her little sister squealed and tugged at her hand, leading her towards the birch and alder thicket by the edge of the beach. She strained her eyes, and could dimly make out the silhouette of her father's back, sat beside her sleeping brother at a small, glowing fire.

And as they stepped over the shingle and into the trees, their father turned to greet them, a tired smile on his face.

"My girls," he stretched his arms wide, and Tilda ran to him, closing her eyes and stretching out on the ground beside him. "How are our dwarf guests? Did they look after you well?"

Sigrid thought she could hear some undercurrent of contempt in her father's voice, and was stung to anger.

"They saved our lives, Dad."

"They unleashed the dragon."

"Not Fili and his brother – they've been here the whole time!"

Her father shook his head. "They're all the same. I should have left them for the orcs at the river."

Sigrid cocked her head to the side, wondering what her father meant. "You mean the orcs followed them from Mirkwood?"

She crept closer to the fire, and sat down beside her father, frowning into his bleak blue eyes as the fire popped between them.

A dark image of Fili's party being pursued across the countryside by those murderous creatures crept into her mind. And a doubtful feeling took root in her stomach.

Her father caught her gaze, and nodded. "They've brought nothing but danger to us all." He looked around him at the series of hearths glowing along the beach. "Nothing but ruin for us all."

Sigrid shook her head. "But you killed the dragon, Dad. Now we're all free." She looked at him in earnest, desperate to change his heart. "We can rebuild the old city, and make it strong like it used to be."

Her father smiled sadly into the flames. "You sound like your mother, Sigrid. She used to talk like that." He blinked, and turned away from his daughter. "And it didn't come true for her either."

Bard's voice trailed off, and Sigrid sighed, unwilling to listen to his lectures, after everything else. From the lake, a chill breeze blew – the first cold gust she'd felt in a while. The fire must be losing its heat by now, as the new supply of tinder was burned away. Soon it would die, as all things here on the beach would die – and the wind would blow a lot colder thereafter.

Without thinking, she pulled the cloak further around her shoulders, savouring the warmth of the fur trim around her neck.

Her father glanced over at her, and smiled darkly. "Did he give you that?"

Sigrid looked up in surprise, puzzled by her father's tone. "It's Fili's. I was cold. And he gave it to me." She glanced back towards the far end of the beach, uncertain what to do. "I forgot to give it back."

Her father raised a speculative brow. "It looks very fine – did he give you anything else?"

Sigrid glared at her father, knowing well what he was implying, and resentful of how mean-spirited he could be. He'd been like this since her mother had died – as if always trying to see the worst in people, determined that no good deed could be without some hidden, selfish agenda. She rose to her feet, realising she didn't want to be here anymore.

"He has given me nothing but kindness since I met him, Dad – and I should really give him this back. He's leaving for the mountain tomorrow, you'll be glad to hear."

Bard shrugged, dismissing the accusation. "I'm sorry, Sigrid. I'm sure your new _friend_ means well. But he's a dwarf – and they bring nothing but trouble. Mark my words."

Sigrid turned and stroke back to the beach, holding the cloak fast against her chest, hearing her father's parting shot ringing in her ears despite her best efforts. They formed another layer of acid in her stomach, and she realised she felt uneasy now – despite her earlier confusion. The blank, hollow feeling she'd sunk into as she watched the burning was now giving way to a deepening dread, and she wanted to run as fast as she could and leave it far behind.

Before whatever it was caught up with her.

Before they were all out of time.


	2. Take Off

As Sigrid stumbled onto the beach and past the huddles of desolate people, she broke into a run. She needed to find Fili again, before her courage failed her, and before her senses stopped her.

She slowed as she neared his campfire, and tried to arrange her hair into some semblance of normality. She must look a fright, she realised: her hair was unkempt, her clothes were damp, and she probably had ash and mud smeared all over her face like everyone else did.

Forcing herself to press on, and telling herself to be brave, her eyes found his fire – and she could see him sitting, eyes closed, some yards away from where his brother and the elf lay sleeping.

Kili's head lay resting on the elf's chest, while her arm held him secure. Sigrid couldn't help but stop and stare at the sight of them together like that. Despite their obvious differences, there was something so normal in the way they cherished each other. And it cheered her heart – neither of them seemed to care what other people thought.

She was sure that the infamous Thorin would disapprove. Just like her father.

Feeling a prickling excitement, she turned her attentions to their sleeping companion on the far side of the hearth. And certain for the moment that she was unobserved, she held her breath and studied him, while the firelight fluttered on his face.

It wasn't the most handsome face she'd ever seen – he was a dwarf after all – but there was something in his bearing that she'd noticed from the start. A strength, and a kindness, that was visible even through his foreign affectations.

But before she got closer, his blue eyes snapped open – and fixed on hers. She wondered if he'd even been asleep to begin with.

"Hi," she started, "I forgot to give you the cloak back." She winced at how lame her voice sounded, and watched Fili's features break into a small frown.

"You keep it, Sigrid. You're cold."

She shook her head. She'd known he would probably be like this, but she wasn't going to let him win.

She sat down beside him, feeling sudden courage, and unhooked the cloak from around her neck.

Seeing him begin to protest, she reached out – and pressed her finger tightly to his lips.

He quietened at once, and his eyes locked on hers. The self-assuredness he normally wore so easily evaporated at once, and she felt his shock like lightning to her heart.

"What are you – "

"Don't argue, Fili. It's not polite to refuse a lady's request."

And without another word – and holding her breath – she took a handful of her cloak and draped it round his shoulder, raising her brow in silent question.

In response, he leant closer, and let her finish wrapping the cloak around his body, enclosing them both under the warm, woollen fabric.

Feeling her heart beating fast, she removed her finger slowly and deliberately from his lips, feeling him exhale as she released him, and the thrill it sent to her skin.

She smiled into his wide blue eyes.

"That's better, Fili. Now we can both be warm together."

He looked unsure of himself, and she wondered if he was blushing. It was hard to tell in the firelight, but his cheeks looked redder than perhaps they should.

She could feel her own face was burning.

"Sigrid... how did you know?"

But before she could answer, he raised a hand to her face – and slowly stroked a strand of hair away from her eyes.

Sigrid tilted forwards – and so did he – and she knew then and there, that she was going to kiss him. And he knew it too. And without any more hesitation, he took her head with both hands – drawing her mouth towards his, until she felt the tickle of his blond moustache, and their lips finally met.

His mouth was kind and gentle, and she let herself settle into their sensual, silent embrace, with a sweet giddiness in her heart. Under the blanket, she reached her arms around his waist, and felt him break his kiss off as her hands wandered to his hips.

"Sigrid," his voice was soft, and shaken. "Do you feel this too?" He fixed her with those eyes again, and touched his forehead to hers. "What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you again...before you go." She felt shy all of a sudden, and worried what he might think of her. "Before you go away, I wanted to talk to you."

He nodded his head, his eyes bright in the glow of the fire. "You can talk to me anytime." He looked around, checking nobody watched them. "Do you want to stay here, where it's warm?"

She shook her head. "No, there's too many people." She sized him up, feeling the hope rising in her chest. "We could go into the woods?"

She watched him regard the shadowy trees and nod. "Only if you agree you'll take my cloak."

She smiled. "You're on."

The two of them stood, and set off to the woods, hand in hand, their backs to the dying blaze and their eyes downcast on the dark path ahead of them.

Sigrid knew the woods well, and was soon leading the dwarf over the clear tracks through the vegetation. She had in mind a quiet place, where nobody would be bothering them for a while. As a child, she'd played there often, and the silence and solitude had always calmed her thoughts.

But when they drew into the clearing, Fili pulled her hand closer, looking around at the shapes in the ground with a look of apprehension.

He turned to her, face on. "Is this... is this a graveyard, Sigrid?"

She nodded solemnly, her eyes flitting to the various pale stones that lay scattered around the overgrown grass. "Nobody here to listen in, is there?"

He shrugged. "I don't mind – it's not the dead that do you harm."

She turned to face him, and took his other hand in hers.

"I don't want anyone to do you harm."

He stared at her, under the canopy of trees. Now they were away from the fire, her eyes had adjusted well to the darkness – and she could trace the outline of all of his features in the starlight that fell through the branches. Although not well enough to read his expression.

He stepped forward, and took hold of her tightly, resting his head between her breasts and throat. And even through her woollen layers, her skin tingled to have him so near to her – with his hands running over her back, and his hair playing about her neck.

"There's nothing left to harm me, or anyone else in my company, Sigrid. Please stop worrying." She heard his voice crack slightly, and wondered if he believed his own words.

She wanted to believe they were true.

"Will you really come back here?"

"Yes."

"Will you come back here... for me?"

He took her face in his hands again, and she felt the rough skin on his fingers and palms, brushing gently against her cheek.

"I promise."

She frowned.

"But I know who you are. I know _what_ you're supposed to become."

His hands dropped to her shoulders. "Does it matter to you? After everything tonight?"

She shook her head, wanting him to understand. "Of course not." She hesitated, wondering how brave she really felt, and how honest she wanted to be.

"I don't care about what you are, Fili. You're a dwarf, and you're royalty – and I'm neither of those things. But it doesn't matter to me! It's because of _who_ you are... that _you_ matter to me."

She reached down, and ran her fingers lightly through his golden hair, brushing his braids away with the side of her hand so she could see his face staring up at her, his attention all hers.

"I've watched you all night, Fili. You do so much for other people – you've done so much for me, and my family – but it's time you got looked after now. I want you to come back to me, and let me look after you. I want to make you happy."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Oh, Sigrid." He squeezed it and held it to his heart. "Don't say these things to me now – it's hard enough to leave as it is."

She bent lower to him, so she could whisper to him alone. "But you will come back?"

"I will. I promise I will. But – I don't know how long it will take me, Sigrid. Once I go back to my uncle – I won't be free anymore. Do you understand? I have to be someone else, with duties, and responsibilities, and obligations that I can't just walk away from."

She wanted to understand him, but she couldn't. Not really. What kind of 'duties' did he have?

With a sinking heart, she took a deep breath.

"Can you ever be mine? Will your people allow it? Must you marry someone else instead?"

He shook his head quickly. "No. That's not what I meant. But – I know they won't approve. Of us... but I don't care!" He tilted his head to hers, and kissed her with a fierce passion.

"You're all I want, Sigrid. You make me feel free. Like I can be myself."

The two of them stood under the starlight for some time, their kiss growing more urgent, until she could stand it no more. Her neck was getting sore like this, and she needed more than just his kisses.

With an effort, she broke away from him, and led him silently to one of the large, flat headstones that had fallen over. Time had long since erased the traces of writing on the memorial, and it lay there, white and exposed, fringed by long, unruly grasses that overhung like weeping willow trees.

She sat on the cold stone, feeling a chill run through her as she beckoned to Fili to come down beside her. He hesitated as he did so, and she wondered if he thought she was being disrespectful to the grave. To the long since unknown, unknowable person who'd once been laid to rest under the rock.

But as he wrapped his arms around her, and let her pull him down to her, she found that happily wasn't the case. She could feel he was as excited as she was – but still hesitant.

"We shouldn't do this, Sigrid. Not here, like this."

She kissed him hungrily. "Don't you want me?"

He returned her kiss, and she felt his hands running over her body. "You know I do. But – we should wait..."

She shook her head. "Wait for when? We're both here now, we both want this – what's wrong?"

Fili sat up, and she felt him shiver in her arms. "What if something happens, Sigrid, and I'm delayed? I don't want you to get... into trouble. I don't want to dishonour you."

She sat up beside him, feeling frustrated now. "But... you promised to come back. I don't care if you're delayed! If anything happens – let people talk. They don't matter."

She kissed him back fiercely – before he could open his mouth to disagree with her again – and pushed him backwards onto the gravestone, straddling him to pin him down, and picking at his clothes with her fingers.

"It's just you and me that matter, Fili – and the time we have together."

But she needn't have pushed so hard.

She could see he was giving in anyway.

And while they touched each other and lost themselves to love, Sigrid knew that even if the stars themselves were watching – they could only be jealous. For they could never split up what the two of them had joined together here this night – even if they tried for a million years.

And some time later – when both of them were quiet again, and still, they curled up together under their woollen cloak and slept peacefully.

So neither of them could see that high up in the black and cold night sky, the stars were circling above their heads, blinking ceaselessly.


	3. Ascension

**Chapter Three: Ascension**

In the end, the delay was less than he'd feared.

By happy chance, another BSAA Tudor IV was already prepped and ready to leave the Kindley Field aerodrome.

And even now – it was waiting for him.

Waiting for him to take some sleep and recuperate from the long flight from Heathrow. His new crew and passengers would take off the next day – and complete the flight's final leg – chasing the sun all the way to Jamaica.

McPhee had a whole day to sleep off his cares in the salty air of the island's grandest hotel, and before he took some rest, he decided to have a beer in the hotel bar. Maybe a cold, crisp lager would shake the feeling of doom that hung around his neck, stiffening his shoulders and sapping the heat from the warm, tropical sunshine.

"John, hi!"

At his name, the blond airman spun round – and saw the smiling woman standing right behind him, her red lipstick rimming the dazzling, white teeth and her flawless, creamy complexion.

"Jude – how are you? What are you doing here?"

The Stargirl winked at him.

"I'm waiting for you, John. I'll be going all the way with you later on." Her voice was like honey, dripping down the corners of her scarlet mouth and glistening on her cut-glass, Home-Counties accent.

Her grey eyes fixed him with a stare, and rolled in scorn.

"All the way back to Kingston, that is."

McPhee watched her red lips purse and pout, and took a hurried sip of his beer.

Judith Moxon certainly was one of England's finest. A former WRN Cypher Officer during the war, she'd worked with the USN and the Royal Navy to defend merchant ships crossing the Atlantic. She was the bravest woman on the BSAA books. And the prettiest of all their stewardesses.

McPhee thought that she alone deserved their 'Stargirl' moniker.

"I heard about that. Bit out of the way, isn't it?"

"I wanted to be on the flight with the New York bankers, Johnny. You know how Uncle Sam likes to flash the cash in old London town." She took a casual sip from her Martini glass. "Anyone worth looking at flying out to Jamaica?"

McPhee considered. He'd caught a glimpse of the passengers at Heathrow, when he'd welcomed them on with the rest of the crew. There'd been several young men – handsome and courteous. But that wasn't really what attracted Judith to a man.

"I doubt they were your type, Jude. Too young and green. No illicit fortunes made in shady oil deals."

His friend shrugged her shoulders and tipped some more Martini down her throat.

"I hate it when this happens. Hey – what's the story with the _Star Lion_? I heard she blew out way past the Azores? Must've been hairy."

McPhee felt a sudden tightness in his throat at the mention of his plane. But he doubted Judith would understand. He washed the feeling down with a good gulp of lager, trying to keep his hand from suddenly shaking.

"There's four engines, Jude – we were never in any danger. It's just, you know. After last year."

The smile vanished from Judith Moxon's red lips, and she stared at the floor.

"My friend, Shiela – she was on that plane. With that blonde girl – the other ex-Wren." She took a large sip of her drink. "I think about it sometimes, how it could have been me."

She scanned the bar with her cold, grey eyes, and turned back to her friend.

"It could have been any of us," she whispered.

"Jude..." McPhee wanted to say something to her, something that would comfort her, but all he could think of was the shadow of the missing plane, and how it cast a cloud on every flight they took.

Like they were cursed.

"Jude, accidents happen. But lightning doesn't strike twice. What happened to them was just bad luck."

The stewardess smiled thinly and nodded her head.

"I know, you're right. I tell myself all the time. We're perfectly safe up there, in the air. I mean, the war's been over four years!"

She downed her drink and slammed her glass onto the bar.

"I'm going to bed now, Johnny. I'd invite you to join me... but we both know how that worked out."

McPhee smiled sadly, and raised his pint in homage to bad decisions long since passed.

"Get some rest, Jude. I'll see you tomorrow."

The Stargirl smiled, and blew him a kiss.

"Aye aye, Captain."

McPhee stared – her violent beauty startling him again for a second – before he came back to earth with a crash.

He realised he didn't know which plane he'd been assigned, now his _Star Lion_ was out of action.

"Oh – Jude. You know what plane I'm taking out west?"

His old flame didn't turn her head round, but he heard her soft murmur regardless.

"It's the _Star Ariel_ , darling. Our favourite."

And McPhee watched her walk out of the bar with her aggressive sashay, and felt a sadness wash through him. One that the beer alone could never take away.

* * *

In the darkness, with the curtain closed on the waking world, Sigrid saw a strange scene unfold.

She was sat in a darkened room, on a seat made of crushed velvet – beholding a screen of light that flashed and flickered like a magic mirror.

There were shapes and images on the screen. But no sound. And no colour.

And while the others in the dream – she didn't see their faces – watched calm and serene, she found herself growing agitated at the pictures formed by the shifting lights.

A great bird – stiff and metallic – was flying through a cloudless sky.

She watched it arc into the air on a set of puny wheels without flapping its wings, and gasped in amazement as it rose higher over a rocky, arid landscape – seemingly graceful in defiance of the laws of gravity.

A murmur grew in the darkened room around her, and she felt the interest of her fellow watchers in the dark – they whispered in approving tones and some pointed to the moving pictures, whispering and discussing some alien aspect of the bird's flight that was lost on Sigrid.

But she noticed something.

A smell, chemical and sharp, floated around the room, unseen and ignored.

Sigrid stood up, sensing something was wrong – and then she saw the flames.

They started on the edge of the moving pictures, burning the flickering images as it they were paper, while the others in the room continued their soft chatter.

She tried to shout, but her voice was silent. No matter how hard she screamed for their attention, no words came out – and the people continued to ignore her.

Desperate, she turned back to the burning screen, and saw the bird was gone.

Instead, she saw a familiar face – in colour this time – and watched in horror as the blue of his eyes was scorched to black as the roll of fire took hold of the melting vision.

And as her silent scream built up, the flames filled the room – and before the darkness returned she thought she heard a question on the wind, from far away.

As dry and lifeless as the poison fumes around her...

 _"MRX, do you copy? Over..."_

* * *

It was the chill, grey dawn that woke her first – although wrapped between the thick cloak and blond dwarf, she was warm enough.

There was a silence in the air that had come from her sleep, and she slowly opened her eyes to see the misty morning twilight filtering through the bare trees. All was still, and all was silent.

There were no bird calls. No rabbits rustling in the bushes as they champed the grasses. No insects drifting past on the shadowy air.

All was as silent as the tomb she lay on with her lover.

She didn't want to move, even though her arm had gone numb where she lay on it. If she moved – she knew she'd wake him. And once he woke, she had the horrible feeling that he'd leave her, and she'd be missing him for far too long.

But as she swept her eyes over him, she saw he was already awake, and staring straight at her – his face wearing a serious, sorrowful smile as her eyes met his.

"Hello, Sigrid." His words were a whisper, and in his sadness she heard her worst fears coming true.

"Fili," she kissed him gently on his lips in greeting, wondering how long it would be before he left. "You're awake."

He nodded, casting his blue eyes around the dreary morning scene. "I had a dream about you."

She smiled at him, thinking he must have spent the whole night reliving their joyful consummation. And passed a better night than her.

But then she saw his face, and her smile dropped.

He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"You were crying, Sigrid. And I couldn't help you."

She pulled herself semi-upright, and held on to him tight, watching in concern as he closed his eyes and grimaced. "I was too far away, and I couldn't find you."

She kissed his forehead, feeling her light-hearted joys leaving her at once. The uneasy, creeping feeling – as if something out of sight was watching them – stalking them as they went about their lives trying to find and hold onto some simple happiness – was back. Maybe it had never fully gone, and she'd just been too wrapped up in the moment to realise.

But she knew now. Her instincts were screaming at her.

"Fili, I don't want you to go. Not today. Please."

She saw his eyes open and watch her again, and she stared at him in earnest. "Just wait a day or two. And stay here with me. What difference will it make to anything?"

She watched his face crease up, and she knew he was struggling to decide. Trying to work out who he should disappoint. And she hated herself for it.

But not as much as she feared the thought of his departure.

"It was just a dream, Sigrid – forgive me. It's just dwarfish superstition. I shouldn't be worrying you with these things."

She eyed him slowly. "What things?"

He was silent for a moment, reaching for the right words to explain. But in the end, he just shook his head.

"I had a bad feeling. About leaving here. About leaving you. I want to stay here, and not move from your side. Believe me."

She saw the desperation in his eyes, and it scared her more than her own premonitions.

"Then stay, Fili! Help us put up some shelters – help us try and salvage our boats. Stay here tonight and don't let me go."

He took a deep breath, as if considering her offer. But he sighed half way through, and her heart sank.

"I can't. You know I can't." He opened his eyes and she saw his eyes were teary. "Don't make this any harder, please."

She nodded, beaten at once. "I'm sorry."

But he sat up beside her, and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Don't be sorry."

She stared at him, her eyes pleading. "Come back and see me soon, Fili. Don't let your uncle send you on some idiot mission and forget all about me."

He chuckled bitterly. "Impossible."

She looked over at him, and felt a rush of feeling overwhelm her.

"I love you, Fili. I'd wait forever for you. Just... come back safe."

He kissed her again on the cheek, his face serious.

"I've been waiting for you all my life, Sigrid – and I'm done now. I love you. I want you to be mine."

She felt her need for him growing desperate. And with a groan, she pushed him against the ground, and kissed him greedily – ignoring the chaffing of his beard against her cheeks, and the chill air falling on her bare shoulders.

And then wordlessly, the pair of them stood on the nameless grave, and began their sombre journey back to the beach.

* * *

Down by the waterline, the mist was thicker.

It muffled the sounds of the gentle waves lapping on the shoreline, and cloaked the small, forlorn figures waiting on the shingle with a grey veil. Surrounded by the frenetic bustle of the Laketown encampment, now on the move – the three dwarves were almost invisible.

Two stood readying the boat, trying to ignore their younger, fool-hearted friend's inadvisable dealings with the she-elf.

The odd pair stood close to the woods – their hands entwined in some lovers' tryst – whispering their sweet-hearted promises to each other while the vain, pretty elf prince glowered over from the trees.

Evidently there was something that both their peoples could agree on – this conduct was nothing short of scandalous. It was a lucky thing that Thorin wasn't here to witness such a spectacle, or there was a good chance that one of his polished steel blades might end up buried in someone's head. And seeing how the she-elf had fought against the spiders – it might have well been his own.

But at least Kili had the good sense to stick with his companions on the beach – even if they had found him lying beside the red-haired temptress at daybreak. There was no sign of his older brother – although suspicions had naturally arisen.

They'd all seen the way their blond prince had looked at Bard's daughter, and the affection was obviously mutual. Although they would have expected the young heir to the throne to have a bit more sense than go courting a woman – whose hearts were seldom true and almost never constant.

They would fall for each other – for a time – and then before Fili was yet of age to respectably marry and father heirs, she would lose interest and turn to another. It was an old story, and a predictable one. For the hearts of women waxed and waned like the moon, and were a dangerous place for a dwarf to entrust his rock-solid loyalties.

If Fili chose Sigrid as his heart's home, then trouble could only come following. Maybe not as spectacularly as for his reckless, madcap brother – but it would come knocking on his door, as sure as the stars shone bright in the night-time sky.

Bofur and Oin finished loading the last of their gear into the small rowing boat, scanning the tree line for signs of their errant friend.

"He'll be here soon," Bofur leaned against the boat, cheerily watching the look of malevolence on the face of the elven prince. "The lad's got some sense on him."

Beside him, the white-haired dwarf frowned in worry. "Not if he's cavorting off with a woman he hasn't. Thorin won't take it well. And as for them..." The healer regarded Kili and his flame-haired vixen sourly. "The less that's said the better."

Bofur took off his floppy-brimmed hat, and scratched at his head, staring after the odd couple fondly.

"She does have a certain appeal. And full marks to Kili for winding up Lord Snooty over there. Maybe he's just taking one for the team?"

His elderly friend chuckled nervously. "It's what he'll be getting when his uncle finds out that's the problem."

Bofur shrugged and produced his smoking pipe, gazing placidly at the water.

"Aye well, you're only young once. And Thorin won't be hearing a peep out of me on this. I'm staying well clear of it."

As a sudden movement from the shady woods caught his eyes, the dwarf replaced his hat and waved. "Look, here's the other one now. We might get there by noon yet."

Oin turned back to the shore, and saw Fili shuffle out from the shrubbery, his hand enclosed around the woman Sigrid's.

Seeing his friends stare through the clearing mists, the blond haired prince nodded in acknowledgement. There was despondency in his movements – and he turned immediately back to the young woman.

In front of them all, he took her face in his hands and kissed her – until his ever-patient companions didn't know where to look.

They stared at the beach, and the water, waiting some time until he managed to part himself from the woman. Until, with a sad backwards glance, he set off for the rowing boat, calling to his brother.

"Come on, Kili. The boat's ready."

The dark-haired dwarf dismissed himself from his own companion with equal reluctance, unwilling to go so soon but unable to delay their departure any longer.

And so the two brothers reached the boat, and climbed aboard, waving for a final time to the two left on the beach.

And as they sailed into the misty lake waters, and disappeared from view, those two stared after them, watching them vanish into the hidden air.

As if they'd never been there at all.


	4. Turbulence

**Chapter 4: Turbulence**

There were thirteen passengers in the end.

And as they stepped through the doors into the sumptuous cabin of flight BSAA G-AGRE _Star Ariel_ , McPhee shook the hands of every single one of them, looking them in the eyes for clues to their character.

There were five men – European aristocrats, American capitalists, Eastern oligarchs – wealthy and well-connected gentlemen each. But only three of them were accompanied by their stately wives. The other two sported girlfriends that nearly put Judith herself to shame – not that her crimson smile was in any way dimmed as she charged herself into their service.

McPhee watched them alight with well-concealed boredom. Passengers such as this were the mainstay of BSAA's operations. And they were all utterly predictable.

But the other three passengers did catch his eye.

They were younger than the rest – two were obviously military men, like himself – and after he heard them speak, McPhee wondered what business the British Armed Forces could have in Jamaica these days, that they were flying on a contract air carrier in plain clothes.

But the thirteenth passenger made him downright uncomfortable. A solitary man – wearing a long, leather trench coat despite the tropical heat – watchful, and somehow shifty looking. His expensive clothes didn't fit him well around the shoulders.

McPhee disliked him at once, and despite his efforts, the unpleasant stories started playing again in his mind. The lurid, screaming headlines that the papers had splashed about almost exactly a year ago.

The ones about the _Star Tiger_.

The stories about commercial sabotage, and government cover-ups. About undercover spies being sighted on the Kindley Field tarmac, and secret messages sent across the ocean in locked leather briefcases on the doomed airliner.

McPhee was glad when he could retire to the cockpit with his First Officer Dauncey, and speed down the runway into a smooth ascent over the clear, blue ocean.

At 8:41hrs, the January morning was perfectly calm, and perfectly beautiful. There was nothing ahead but icy blue skies from lift-off to landing – so McPhee took the plane as high as she'd go. And at 18,000 feet above the sea, with nothing but wispy white cirrus clouds for company, the Star Ariel radio'd ahead to Kingston Aerodrome:

I DEPARTED FROM KINDLEY FIELD AT 8:41AM HOURS.

MY ETA AT KINGSTON 2.10PM HOURS.

I AM FLYING IN GOOD VISIBILITY AT 18,000FT.

I FLEW OVER 150 MILES SOUTH OF KINDLEY FIELD AT 9.32 HRS.

MY ETA AT 30° N IS 9.37 HRS.

WILL YOU ACCEPT CONTROL?

For despite their relative closeness to the island terminal they'd just departed, Radio Operator Rettie was having difficulty hailing Kindley Field on the airwaves – and McPhee didn't much like the thought of flying across the blank, blue Bermudan skies under radio silence.

They would be alone enough out there.

But the rolling radio blackouts continued, and even on the long-range frequency, Rettie's messages weren't getting through. In the end, at 9:42hrs McPhee bid him sign over to MRX – the Kingston broadcast frequency – hoping to let the outside world know their whereabouts.

I WAS OVER 30° N AT 9.37

I AM CHANGING TO MRX

But to McPhee's growing concern, Kingston didn't acknowledge.

They flew on for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen – and still there was no reply from the ground. There was no way at all to contact the outside world now, and McPhee had the terrible thought, as he looked down to the turquoise ocean below, that they could have flown clean off the end of reality out here, and never known.

And nobody else would ever have known either.

Humanity could have wiped itself out and all the great cities of the world been obliterated, and all they would hear out here was the constant drone of the four Tudor engines as the _Star Ariel_ slid through never-ending azure skies.

Without wishing it, McPhee thought back to his vanished RAF comrade, Captain Brian McMillan –flying over this same sea corridor in a dark, January gale, never to be seen again. Exactly a year ago to the day – minus thirteen. Flying low to avoid freezing the 31 on-board in the chill night air, following the Lancastrian Tudor guidance flight which charted the course by celestial navigation. Running low on fuel as they turned straight into a stormy headwind.

But while the stars had allowed the Lancastrian safe passage over the sea, there had been no return home for Brian McMillan or Shiela Niccols. Or anyone else on-board the BSAA G-AHNP _Star Tiger_.

All that remained of them had been a series of eerie radio messages – picked up by amateur operators all down the US East coast – a pseudo Morse-code of numbered dots, with the letters 'T-I-G-E-R' forever looping.

And the crackling, static, androgenous voice on the airwaves spelling out 'G-A-H-N-P' over and over again.

Until four days later, when even the ghostly messages died.

And never a trace of debris had ever been found.

McPhee shivered, and held his plane high as the blue skies buried the plane ever deeper from the sight and sound of the living, breathing, outside world.

The very air was making his skin crawl – the sun shone right behind them now from the East, and all around the cockpit, the weird, green glow of the ocean sent ripples of shimmering, dancing light into the pilot's blue eyes.

The drone of the four Tudor engines swarmed and swirled around the stuffy cabin, and McPhee shifted in his seat.

The airman's ears were sharp, and it seemed that the pitch of the propellers had somehow altered. Like the rarefied green air was not feeding them enough oxygen, and ever so slowly – they were starting to fail...

He turned to Dauncey, fidgeting at the controls by his side.

"You hear that?"

And then – from somewhere in the passenger cabin – came the shattering wail of a woman's scream...

* * *

After what had had felt like an eternity, the fighting outside the Great Hall of Dale finally ceased. And all around her – all the old men, women and children in the great hall – rejoiced in deliverance.

Salvation was theirs.

Sigrid watched the cheering crowd, and hugged her little sister tighter. After gripping her for so long, her arms ached, and her whole body was stiff and sore. But they were alive, and safe now – her brother and sister – and little Tilda squirmed to break free of her sister's smothering embrace.

"Siggy, put me down!"

Her brother glanced over at the two of them and laughed.

"We won! You're allowed to smile now, sis!"

She looked at her brother's happy face and struggled to return a smile. She didn't feel especially like celebrating, and was too tired to try and reciprocate the glee all around her.

She had no idea where their father was, or whether he was unhurt – although she at least trusted in his ability to keep himself safe. He was no stranger to fighting, and the landscape here was his home. He knew all the places to run and hide.

Her more desperate thoughts kept returning to Fili – somewhere out there, well beyond her reach. Had he made it safely to Erebor? Had his party been ambushed before they made it? Was he safe from harm, or...was he hurt?

She needed some answers.

"Let's go and find Dad." She beckoned to her siblings, unwilling to stay another minute in the sweaty hall with all her fears and anxieties. "He'll want to know we're all okay."

Fighting their way through the door, past people flooding out to the cobbled streets in jubilation, Sigrid took her siblings' hands and led them into the flow outside. Everyone was hurrying towards the battlefield site – seeking news of their friends and loved-ones, and the celebratory atmosphere turned tense as they walked further onwards.

As they mounted the summit of a hill and took their first glimpse of the battle site, Sigrid stopped and gasped. As far as the eye could see, there were soldiers – and not just men either.

Where the streets of Dale receded, and the towering peak of the Lonely Mountain sank into the barren, rocky plain, whole armies of the various races of the world were stationed – some at rest, some chasing scattered remnants of the orc forces back towards the eastern extents. While others lay motionless on the ground.

She noticed a large force of dwarves in the middle of the plain, and stood staring in dismay. Where had these people all come from? And why were they here? Was Fili with them?

"Wow, look at them all!" Her younger brother gazed at the scene in amazement. "Do you think they'll all come into Dale now the fighting's over?"

But Sigrid shook her head. "There's no room, Bain. They'll probably go back to where they came from." She glanced up at the mountain, wondering whether it was true. What if the dwarves took Fili with them when they left? What if he never came back to her? She shook her head again, trying to clear her troubled mind.

"Let's get closer, and find Dad."

But no sooner had Sigrid spoke the words than she saw him, trudging up the hill with a limp in one leg and a sword in one hand, a party of men by his side.

There was blood on his face.

"Dad!"

Dropping her hands, her little siblings ran to their father, and Bard dropped his sword to gather them close to him.

"My treasures – you're all safe!"

"We hid in the hall," her brother explained. "It was the only place we could go. What happened? Why did the orcs come back?"

Sigrid saw a shadow flit across her father's face and he closed his eyes, hugging his son.

"Because some dwarves led them here, Bain. But those dwarves were lucky that they weren't left to fight alone – although they deserved it well enough." He opened his eyes, and shared a stony look with his men. "We joined forced with Thranduil's elven army, and repelled the orcs. They won't be back in a hurry. Their leaders are dead."

Sigrid stepped forward, desperate to know more.

"And the dwarves, Dad? What happened to them?" She hardly even dared to ask the question, for fear of cursing her luck. "Do you know what happened to Fili?"

Her father looked up at her, and she saw the sudden concern on his face. He didn't say anything as he stared quietly, and the seconds ticked by.

And in those seconds she knew her world was ending.

And with a blistering fervour, she wished for her father to hold his tongue, and not say the words she feared so much out loud...

For a truth unspoken might still be no truth at all.

"I don't know, Sigrid – I didn't see it for myself. I only know what I've heard."

Sigrid felt her heart stop in her chest. "What have you heard?"

Her father stood up, bidding the men at his sides to head on, and they stole forward without looking her in the eyes.

She stared at her father, feeling the tears starting to form already. "What's happened?"

But her father shook his head. "I'm sorry – I am, really."

He strode across the gap that separated him from his daughter, and took her in his arms. "They say he died by his brother's side, and their uncle along with them. That's all I heard."

Sigrid closed her eyes, and opened them again to scan the battlefield. "Maybe it's not true," she whispered. "Maybe you heard wrong."

Her father regarded her doubtfully. "It's unlikely, Siggy."

But she shook her head, still scanning the battlefield. "I have to find him, Dad."

Her father nodded. "I know, but Siggy – "

She broke away from her father, wiping the tears away. She had to know for sure.

"I need to find him."

Her father nodded unhappily. "We'll be waiting in the old schoolhouse for you. But Sigrid – "

She stared back at her father blankly, his words already growing distant to her.

"Maybe it's best to remember him how he was."

Sigrid turned to the battlefield and ran. She ran from her father, and his pity – and from the curious glances of her younger siblings as they tried to understand what was so suddenly wrong with their steady older sister.

She needed to find Fili, and see the truth for herself. Inside of her was a horrible, tearing pain – and all that stood in the way of it overwhelming her completely was the tiny, frightened hope that what her heart knew to be true was somehow mistaken.

She ran on and on – past the men still filtering in from the fight, tattered and exhausted in their dirty clothes and hardened faces – past the ranks of stern and ordered elves, who observed her with distain and mild irritation.

And after an age of running, she came to the smaller number of dwarf soldiers who stood grimly around the edge of the battlefield, morose and melancholic as they bowed in lamentation.

She turned to the nearest one with a desperate cry, and yanked him around by the shoulder.

"Where's Fili?" She saw the startled glare on the dwarf's face turn to one of curiosity, and then sympathy, as his brown eyes took in her face, and her trembling lower lip.

And wordlessly he pointed the way down towards the little stream that ran below the cliffs, and her heart all but disintegrated then and there.

For as Sigrid followed his hand with her eyes, she saw the silent mass of their dead comrades laid out in rows.

She staggered blindly towards them, unaware of the disapproving glances her presence was already earning, and feeling utterly lost – until she felt a hand on her arm.

She spun around, and saw the dwarf from the beach. The one with the big hat and lopsided smile.

Except he wasn't smiling now.

"Sigrid? What are you doing here?"

The dwarf put his arm around her back, and touched her lightly in concern. "Are you alright?"

Sigrid shook her head, pointing to the dead soldiers.

"Where's Fili?"

And with a sigh, the little dwarf enclosed her with his other arm, and held her as she cried.

She was dimly aware that he was stroking her hair, and making soothing noises in his language – but the words meant nothing to her.

"Can I see him?"

She felt the dwarf release her, and look her in the eyes with a stark directness. She noticed the red marks around his own eyes, and knew he understood her pain.

"I don't know if that's wise, Sigrid. He's not... as you remember him."

She lowered her gaze, and closed her eyes. "He is dead then."

It was more of a statement than a question, but the dwarf answered it anyway.

"Yes. He is. All three of them are."

She shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry."

But he took her by the arm, and led her towards the river. "If it will help you to see him, then nobody here will stop you, Sigrid." He eyed around the rest of the dwarves, huddled together in groups, trying to comfort each other. "We all know how he felt about you."

Sigrid stopped, choking back a sob.

"You do?"

The dwarf nodded solemnly. "Him and Kili were talking in the boat." His face lit up with a short-lived smile, as he remembered his friends. "He said he'd fallen in love with Bard's eldest daughter, and he was going to talk to your father. To ask for your hand." The dwarf reached into his jacket, and withdrew something from an inner pocket.

"Before the battle, he told me that if anything happened to him, to give you this."

Sigrid took the object – wrapped up in a small, blue scrap of wool – and regarded it. It was a small wooden star, with some dwarfish writing carved into the surface.

"What does it say?" She heard her voice breaking as she spoke.

Bofur studied it with some sadness. It's two initials in our alphabet – yours and his. Joined into one."

Sigrid felt her hand shake, and hastily buried the little star in her pinafore.

And without a word, the dwarf led her on, until she saw him – lying before her on the ground, his blue eyes closed now forever and his body lifeless and pale. There was blood on his chest, and on his clothes. His own life's blood, spilled so pointlessly in spite of all her warnings.

With a cry, Sigrid dropped to her knees, and felt her hands rush to her mouth in horror.

She knelt there for a while in silence, and numbly reached out to touch the ashen, waxy skin on his face, feeling the sickening repulsion as her finger met something cold and dead.

She brushed his lips with her finger – the same lips that had promised his return – and felt no breath, no life. Like his face, they were chilled and motionless.

Without thinking, she brought her own lips down to his, to kiss him one last time.

"Why didn't you listen to me?"

Her voice was angry, and sad, and she waited for a time before realising that she would have no reply. She would never have a reply.

She would never hear his voice again.

With some difficulty, she rose to her feet, the tears flowing freely now.

The dwarf took her arm, his own eyes shining.

"Look after yourself, Sigrid. It's what he would have wanted. And don't be a stranger to us here. You'll always be welcome in Erebor."

She nodded dumbly, and felt her arm being squeezed.

And then she was walking away, hearing the mournful lamentations ringing in her ears as she staggered on – back in the direction she thought was the way home.

She didn't know where she was going – she had no plans now. No ideas. No hope. But she wanted to get away from this place, and all these people, before she buckled under the pain completely.

And without looking back, Sigrid fled the scene and ran to her woods in a daze.


	5. Holding Patterns

The snow was beginning to fall again. It was gliding down on the cold breeze in big, white feathers – tickling her eyelashes and coating her face with a fine layer of damp.

Sigrid raised a hand to her head and tried to brush off what she could, not wanting to get cold and wet so early in the day. Most of her journey still lay ahead.

She'd heard talk, these past two months. And while most of it passed her by – she was too wrapped up in her grief and sadness to take an interest in the idle gossip of the living – some snippets still made it past the fog that followed her through the days and nights. Mostly the bits related to Fili and his companions – and so it was with this.

There was talk that the red-haired elf still lingered in the woods, on the west side of the big lake. And Sigrid had decided to find her.

She needed her help.

There was nobody else to turn to in the ruins of Dale – her friends had never even met Fili, and had no idea why she'd turned so distant and listless over someone she'd known for the span of a day. They were still waiting for her to snap out of it, and couldn't understand that this one event had changed her.

Her family had tried too – her father knew well the pain of losing someone – but they couldn't reach her either. Her father was worried about her, and that made Sigrid less honest with him. She knew he only wished to advise her, and ease her grief, and have her move on and look for a suitable husband amongst the young men of her town... but that was the last thing she wanted.

She cultivated her hurt, and nurtured her pain. It was all that she had left to remember him by.

That and the near-nightly dreams of fire, smoke and blood.

Sometimes, in those visions, she thought she caught a glimpse of his blonde hair through the flames, while other times she only heard his voice. And when she woke up, she had the strange and terrible feeling that it had all been real. That he'd really been there, and she'd just missed him. That maybe if she knew how to reach out, she could bring him back with her, back to the world of the living...

Up ahead on the track, the sound of running water snapped her back to the present. She must be nearing the river – and the bridge across to the western shores.

Above her, the clouds were thinning out – for now. She'd never wanted to set off so far from Dale with the weather like this, but what choice did she have? It had threatened snow for the past ten days – and now the storms were arriving – it would likely snow for another score more. She couldn't risk missing Tauriel, and if she set off today, she could hopefully return before the worst of it set in.

She had no intention of getting lost in the snows, and dying all alone out here under the starless, freezing, winter skies.

As she crossed over the arched stone bridge, she thought she could hear a whistling sound coming from the trees before her. Unsure whether it was a bird or not, she hesitated at the threshold of the canopy.

There were wolves in these woods, she knew – and bears. And that was just the animals. Who knew what other vicious, beastly creatures might still lurk around in the shadows, left over from the battle – hate-filled and hungry?

She took a deep breath to steel herself, and listened for a spell – trying to hear the sound when it came again, to track its location.

But the forest was silent once more.

And so Sigrid had no choice but to carry on, putting one foot in front of the other, and watching as the landscape changed beneath her feet.

The forest was thicker on this side of the lake – as it drew closer to the great green expanse of Mirkwood. The ragged alders and birch disappeared and were replaced by oaks and elms – strong, shady trees that stood tall and blocked the light. But at least the track remained clear of snow.

So when Sigrid came into the wide clearing she sighted the elf immediately.

Her green dress and red hair stood out like a breath of spring against the white, virgin snowfall. She sat on her knees in the middle of the space, snowflakes fluttering silently around her as she contemplated the large, black bird that stood before her.

As Sigrid appeared into view, the raven croaked in warning, and the elf's green eyes snapped immediately towards the intruder.

"Tauriel, hi," she heard her voice falter, feeling she was interrupting something private, but her fears were chased away as the elf smiled brightly her way.

Sensing the shift in the air, the raven took to the skies – its path taking it right past Sigrid's head as it made for the lake.

The elf was on her feet in a second, striding calmly across the fresh snow towards the waiting woman – her feet leaving the first marks on the smooth, white, surface of the glade.

"Sigrid, my friend. What are you doing here, so far from home? Are you all alone?"

The surprise in her voice was apparent, and Sigrid saw the elf's concern.

"I came alone, Tauriel. I came here – to see you. I want to talk to you."

The elf's beautiful brow creased in sadness, and she nodded.

"Then I know why you have come." The elf stepped forward, and took Sigrid by the shoulders. "And I wish I could help you."

Sigrid felt the intensity of the elf's green gaze seep through to her innermost thoughts, and she broke away, her senses overwrought.

"I miss him," the woman said simply. "I don't know what to do."

The elf studied her for a second more, grief apparent on her own delicate face, and nodded.

"I know, Sigrid. It's the same for me. Or, at least – it has been."

Something in her voice caused Sigrid to look at her sharply, wondering what she meant.

"Come with me, back to my shelter. I have some things you may wish to know."

The woman nodded helplessly, and the elf smiled and took her hand, leading her all the way across the glade, and through the other side, down a steep bank, and into a wide cleft in the hillside, where the elf had evidently made her camp.

For under the overhanging rock, and sheltered from the snow and winds, scorched logs and ashes lay in a stone-lined hearth – the only testament to her presence in the woods at all. Sigrid looked around, impressed by the Spartan solitude that Tauriel had made for herself, even if it looked rather cold.

"For nearly two moons now, I have stayed here. Listening to the forest, and its creatures." The elf closed her green eyes, as if even now she was hearing some distant sound on the wind that passed her companion by.

"The birds and the creatures of the earth have many stories to tell. If you know how to listen."

Sigrid nodded, confused – and the green eyes turned back to her gently.

"But first, I think you should sit down and rest, Sigrid. I will make some tea – and if you look in the bag under the furs there's apples, and some mushrooms I picked this morning." The elf looked at her quizzically. "Please eat something."

Sigrid nodded and nosed in the bag behind her, deciding to forego the raw mushroms, and try something sweeter.

She chewed on a red apple slowly, watching as the elf cast some large stones into the fire, heating them to put in her pail. She wondered how to begin her story.

"I've been waiting in Dale for these two months too, you know. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting to wake up, and feel better. But it's not happened, Tauriel." Her gaze dropped to the flickering flames before her. "I can't forget him."

The elf studied her closely, and slowly arranged the logs on the fire – stacking some in, and pulling some out.

"Tell me, Sigrid. Does your father know you're here?"

The woman looked up. "He knows about me and Fili. By now, I think they all know. But I told him I was going to a friend's house for the night. I just... didn't tell him it was you."

The green eyes regarded her directly, but there was only sympathy on the elf's face.

"You gave him everything, didn't you? Without any care for yourself. I tried to hold myself back with his brother – I never expected it would be easy for us."

Sigrid smiled at the fire.

"He gave me everything too. And I believed him. What he told me." She stared at the elf defiantly. "I'm not sorry for what we did!" Sigrid clutched at her arms, feeling her eyes burning. "I'm only sorry he's not coming back."

The elf sat beside her, and Sigrid felt a thin, warm arm around her waist. And she wondered how even now, in the dead of winter, the elf managed to smell like springtime flowers.

"Neither of them are coming back, Sigrid. Not if we sit around and do nothing. You will grow old, and they will make you marry someone you do not love – while I will remain here. A traitor to my people and an enemy of his."

Sigrid closed her eyes, wishing for a different future. Under kinder stars.

"Do you think that if Kili was here, it would be different for you? Do you think they would have accepted you?"

The elf thought for a moment, and sighed.

"The ones who mattered might have, if I made him happy – like he made me."

Reaching out for a couple of thinner logs, the elf edged some stones out of the fire, and dropped them into the pail. The water hissed and splashed at once.

"But it's my fault he died. I couldn't save him. I tried, and I failed."

Sigrid turned to her friend, surprised. "You saw him die?"

But the elf just nodded. "I couldn't save him." And catching the young woman's pale stare, she shook her head. "Fili was beyond help. Nobody could have saved him. I would have tried if I'd had the chance, believe me."

Sigrid was silent, staring into flames again as the sky grew darker. "What happened to him? No one would say."

The elf stared at her friend carefully, watching the flames flicker across her youthful face.

"He was taken prisoner. He was executed by Azog – in front of his friends. For sport."

Sigrid felt her hands fly up, covering her eyes from the mocking, dancing light. But the elf held her silently, and Sigrid found herself sobbing into her friend's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Sigrid. I thought you should know."

The woman nodded, her face still buried. "Thank you."

"I thought you should know because... we don't have to just accept it."

Sigrid sat up and shook her head. "They're dead, Tauriel. We don't have any choice _but_ to accept it!"

Slowly and deliberately, the elf turned to the pail of hot tea, and produced a wooden cup from under one of her blankets. Leaning forward, she poured some of the fragrant brew into the cup – and tested the temperature of the water herself, before offering the cup to Sigrid.

"I can only tell you what I have heard, from the animals that live around here and know these lands. I cannot vouch that all they tell me is true – oftentimes the creatures of the forest do not understand the ways of men. Or even the ways of dwarves and the Eldar. But they all seem quite certain about one thing."

Sigrid took a sip of the scalding, bitter water, and sighed.

"Certain about what? What have your ravens told you?"

The elf turned to the young woman, and in the firelight her eyes shone gold.

"They told me the witch has returned to her island in the lake. She is here again – after all these years."

A log popped on the fire, and Sigrid jumped with a start.

"The witch?" She tried to sound enthusiastic, but the word stuck in her throat.

The elf smiled regardless.

"Perhaps it is before your time, Sigrid – but around these shores, there has always lived a powerful witch. I heard rumours of her return this winter, and the raven told me he has seen her again."

Sigrid shivered, pulling the blankets around her, feeling the coldness in her bones. A frost had sank into her deeply the day that Fili died, and now she never seemed to get warmer.

"And what do you think this witch might do for us, Tauriel? What can she do?"

But the elf didn't answer. She was still staring into the fire, a far-away look in her eyes.

"They say she knows the secrets to powerful magic. She lives in a cave on an island in the lake, but often disappears for long stretches of time. Nobody knows where she goes – some say she turns into one of the fishes, and swims off to sea – returning decades later as a great, white gull. Others think she hibernates through the ages, like a she-bear."

The elf clutched at Sigrid's arm, her eyes wide.

"I heard tales of her many years ago – four centuries ago, Sigrid. If she has returned, then we must go to her. We must seek her advice."

Sigrid cocked her head, puzzled.

"Seek her advice... why?" Sigrid was confused. "Is she an elf?"

But her companion shook her head.

"She is no elf, Sigrid. But she is not of Erebor, nor Escaroth. They say she comes from a far-away land, and knows many great secrets."

Sigrid stared into the fire, feeling a tranquillity seep into her tired, stiff body as the flames twisted and curled. She longed to reach out and touch them – they were so beautiful – each a little torch of fire rising and dying on cue in a ghostly dance.

But they were not of her world, and she couldn't touch them, she knew. Not without destroying herself in the process.

The woman looked at the elf slowly, wanting so badly to share in her hope – even if just for tonight. So wanted to fall asleep dreaming that Fili was still alive, and that when she awoke in the morning, he would be there by her side again, smiling at her and holding her head close to his heart.

"Tauriel, do you think..." Sigrid stopped, afraid to voice her thoughts aloud, lest some evil spirits from the aged forest might hear. "Do you think she could... bring them back?"

The elf said nothing, and continued to stare into the flames.

Until, with a slight nod, she turned her eyes onto the woman, and Sigrid saw in a split second the pain in those beautiful, olive-green eyes.

"I think we should ask her ourselves. If we set off at first light, we might reach her island by noon."

Sigrid shook her head. "Not without a boat we won't. We can't swim to the western islands!"

The elf waved her hand. "I have a boat already. It's old, and crude – but it shall suffice for our purpose." She closed her eyes, as if listening to the wind again. "Imagine what she could do for us. Imagine just hearing their voices again. Imagine _seeing_ them again."

The woman shook her head, trying to clear away the delicious pictures that came galloping blindly into her mind. She would be better off putting her hands in the fire, and being done with it. Who knows what madness lay in the mind of those who walked with spirits?

"Why do you think this witch would help us, Tauriel?" Sigrid's voice was quiet, and her arms around her stomach. "If she's as powerful as you say, then how can we trust her? How can we know she wouldn't hurt _us_? Or hurt _them_?"

She stared into the fire once more, her voice morose. "Wherever they are."

The elf was looking at her sharply, and without warning, her long, silver sword was in her hand – raised in warning to the bright, white stars – now visibly appearing in the indigo sky.

"We don't know we can trust her, Sigrid. We can only try. And I promise you this – all the magic spells and spirit guides in the seven circles of hell will not save her from my blade if she threatens you, or anyone else that I love!"

Sigrid gazed at the shiny, narrow sword and smiled. She'd seen before what the elf was capable of, and she didn't doubt that Tauriel meant what she said. And as she followed the aim of the glittering, pointed blade upwards towards the inky heavens, she saw the bright white twinkling of the dog star, Sirius, rising above the trees to the south.

To most of the world, the dog star was the portent of good times and good friends, and smiling, shining, fortune. But the people of Laketown had a different story. To them, the star brought storms: its winter sojourns in the night sky foretelling only death, and drownings.

For two months now she'd raged inside at those responsible – those evil, filthy creatures that had invaded her homeland and murdered her lover – but now perhaps she could name another enemy.

"I'll come," she turned to the elf, and nodded in promise. "If this witch has any power, then we'll do what we can. I would tear down the heavens and have the stars all drown if it meant I could see Fili again."

The elf smiled, pleased.

"If that's what it takes – then that's what we shall do, I swear to you."

Sigrid nodded her head, and stared into the flames again, wondering what the fires of dawn would bring. And some time later, warm in the fur blankets under the hanging rock, and tired from her journey, she felt her eyes resting on those flames, and let herself follow them on to a soundless world of smouldering, burning, visions.

And for the first time in two months, she fell asleep without crying.

* * *

The otherworldly light flickered all around the cabin, throwing a green aura around the scowling man.

The light of the sun had been bright in his eyes, but it seemed to him, as he sat and watched his merry, fellow travellers, that none of them had a care in the world. From the smiling air hostess, strutting and fussing over the pampered passengers, to the gaunt, grey-haired Dutch couple sitting opposite his seat – all of them were chattering away or admiring the view over the jade-coloured ocean. Blissfully unaware of how dangerous their predicament really was, flying all alone up here in the frozen, icy skies.

But he knew.

He knew very well indeed – and maybe it was time he started explaining it to the rest of them...

The man in the long, leather trench coat reached into his pocket, and wrapped his thin fingers around something inside an inner pocket. Something hard, and cold.

A slow grin slid across his mouth, scattering the green glare from his face onto the cabin walls beside him.

He made to stand up – but the smile left him in a flash. Maybe he was too late.

The noise assailed him from all sides – the high-pitched, anguished wail...

The screaming had started already.


	6. Descent

**Author's Note** : Sorry this is a wee bit late up, I ended up having to do a bit of overtime at work so fell a bit behind with my editing. This is a slightly longer chapter than the rest too. I hope you like it, it should start bringing stuff together...

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Descent**

The mists were back – swirling in grasping tendrils from the cold surface of the lake, muffling and choking. But despite their grey, damp breath, the air felt dirty and smothering on her lungs. A caustic cloud of heavy, black fumes kept wafting her way on heated gusts – and when they came, they made her eyes water and her throat ache.

From somewhere far away, a churning orange glow told her senses that something was burning – but the flames were cloaked by the mists, and she couldn't quite see what it was that cast the eerie, glimmering sparks.

Except a shadow – dark and hulking – as if a great, dying bird had been cracked in two upon a funeral pyre of pitch and tar. And now it lay before her, visible only through the absence of light – at the edge of her vision and beyond her comprehension to see clearly.

And then, from behind her, she heard him.

"Sigrid."

His voice was hoarse, as if his mouth was dry, and she turned in an instant, reaching out for him with a cry.

But no matter which way she turned, she couldn't find him. There was nothing but mists, and the ceaseless, flickering fires that blew behind the smoke.

"Fili? Where are you?"

She heard her voice echo over the shallow waters, and bounce back from a hundred different directions all at once, taunting her with her own hopeless questions.

As she stared around, she felt a hand on the back of her shoulder, warm and loving.

"Sigrid, I can see you."

"Fili?"

But again – she saw nobody there.

"Fili! Come back! Tell me where you are?"

But all she heard was the crackling of the fire – coming closer now. The whole surface of the lake was seething with flames. And the acrid, choking stench inched closer with them.

There was an oily film on the water, coating her dress and sticking to her thighs as she stood staring dumbly into the surging smoke.

"Fili?"

"It's time, Sigrid."

"What do you mean? Where are you?"

"Time to go."

"Fili!"

"It's time to go, Sigrid."

"Come back!"

"It's time to go!"

Sigrid gasped and opened her eyes, for a second still seeing nothing but fire and water...

But as she stared straight into the bright green eyes of the wood-elf, she knew the truth at last.

"It was just a dream," she whispered, noticing Tauriel's hand on her shoulder.

"You were calling his name." The elf's voice was gentle. "You should save your strength for later. We have a long way to go, before the day is dark."

The woman sat up, her mind lurching to the forest floor with a jolt.

Looking around the bare, winter trees, she noticed the first traces of blue dawn were glowing from the far, Eastern shores of the lake. And high above her, the white stars had vanished.

"Is it morning already? But it's so cold!"

Sigrid could hardly move her shivering legs from the hard earth. She almost wished she was back in the nightmarish fires of her dreams – at least she'd felt the heat of that otherworldly furnace well enough.

And maybe if she slept for longer she would find Fili at last.

But the elf was insistent.

"There's more tea in the pail, Sigrid – help yourself. We must leave soon, before it's fully light – unless you want to return in total darkness?"

Shaking her head, the young woman forced herself from the frozen earth and onto her stiff heels.

"I'm getting up." A wave of nausea coursed through her, and she fought the urge to keel over. "I'm coming."

And half in a daze, the young woman helped the elf gather her weapons and knapsack together, and pulled her own fur-lined cloak tightly around herself. In her mind, she could still smell the traces of the blond dwarf who'd once owned it.

"Where's this boat of yours, Tauriel? Do we have far to walk?"

The elf shook her head. "It's moored half a mile away. Downhill all the way."

Sigrid nodded into the semi-darkness, and stumbled blindly behind the keen-eyed elf who wove their path between the tall, shadowy trees.

And the pair of them drifted off into a wordless trudge, dimly aware of the brightening of the morning sky and the beginnings of birdsong ringing above their heads. The air was chill, and windless – promising a clear, bright day ahead.

A perfect day to take a sail on the lake.

The elf slowed as they neared the shoreline, and carefully led her friend over the rocks and boulders that lined the rough hillside of the flooded cove. And in the rosy dawn sky, Sigrid's heart sank as she saw the battered rowing boat.

"Is that it?"

She didn't mean to sound so scornful, but where she came from, such a sight would never be called a boat – lest the gods beneath the lake heard and were angered. Her people would have hauled the thing from the water at once. And then dried it, broken it up – and used it as tinder for their home fires.

The elf shrugged, caring not for the vanities of the lake dwellers.

"It's watertight – it will sail." She stopped and took a sweeping glance over the flat, glassy surface of the lake. "It will take us to our destination."

Sigrid frowned at the boat. Upon closer inspection, it was even more decrepit, with dried flecks of red paint curling off the bleached wooden boards. But if she wanted to find the witch and hear her secrets today, it was their only vehicle.

The elf strode to the shore and pulled the mooring line, dragging the boat onto the pebble beach so her friend could step into it without getting her long dress wet.

"Are you ready, Sigrid?"

The young woman stared out to the glowing, ice blue surface of the lake. It mirrored the sky perfectly, with only the dark strip of the western shoreline tracing a boundary between them.

Yet something held her a second more at the water's edge, and made her look back towards her home. The ruined black slats of the Laketown buildings were not visible from this corner of the lake – but the Lonely Mountain was.

She wondered what her father and siblings were thinking now, if they had woken yet. They probably believed she was with her best friend – as she'd told them – but what if she was late home? What if this worm-riddled, rotten rowing boat sank in the middle of the shining lake, and they never saw a trace of her again?

She shivered, and stepped over the side of the boat. Trying not to stare too hard at the flaking varnish, she nodded her head.

"Let's go."

The elf jumped inside and cast off with an oar, allowing Sigrid to lie back in the boat and close her eyes to the gentle rocking. The soft splash of the wooden oar and the surging pulse of the currents soothed her thoughts, and she wondered whether she should doze this time away. Her body felt heavy and tired – and hungry.

But ever alert to the dangers of the lake, she sat up and watched the waters as the elf steered their way towards the scattered islands on the far southern end. And as they travelled further, the sun broke over the western shore and flooded the water with copper light.

Sigrid looked back towards the snowy mountain, and saw it wreathed in ruby. The tall peak was always the first and last to catch the low rays of the sun, and against the brilliant blue of the frozen morning sky, the mountain shone like a pyre.

She knew that somewhere dark and cold, shuttered away from the dazzling sky and the dawn sunshine – her lover's body lay dead and buried beside his two kinsmen. She'd been witness the day of their funeral – viewing from a safe distance outside the mountain, by her father's steadying arm.

Back in the days when she'd imagined she would one day wake from her sorrows, and discover it had all been a passing dream.

As the sun climbed higher, and the dark shadows on the lake retreated, Sigrid watched their approach to the witch's island with a growing bewilderment.

She'd never been so far out on the lake before – the outlines of the familiar hills of home took on an uncanny aspect, when viewed this far south. And the dark cluster of low lying islands loomed ever larger as their boat sped onward, so that Sigrid wondered what fell spirits walked here, hidden from the eyes of men – alone on the shallows of the lakebed.

"There's so many of them," Sigrid studied the rugged, crumbling rocks that studded the surface of the lake before her. "Which one is hers?"

The elf eyed the narrowing straights and shielded her eyes from the sun.

"The biggest, of course. It lies to the south of these rocks." The elf considered the half-sunken landscape. "We're almost there now."

Sigrid looked a final time upon the far, northern shore where the solitary mountain stood sentinel over her home – before the view vanished as Tauriel steered them onwards towards the nameless island.

And then she saw it – higher and craggier than the others – sitting on the edge of the rim of rocky isles like a crouching beast, expectant and watchful as their little boat drew closer.

"And you're sure she'll help us?" Sigrid whispered, suddenly afraid.

The elf swallowed, regarding the island with her clear, green stare.

"Let's find out."

Tauriel took the boat wide around the west of the isle, seeking some suitable landing ground. And as they rounded a flattened headland, a long beach presented itself – a large expanse of flat, black sand on which their boat could be hauled – and the elf carefully brought them near, until she judged the water was shallow enough to wade through.

Sigrid jumped out to help, glad to feel the earth under her feet again – and keen to explore this new shore and find whatever it was that waited for her here, beyond the distant gaze of her hometown.

The two of them dragged the boat high onto the beach and upended it, stowing the oar under the hull and brushing the sand from their skirts.

"How will we find her?" Sigrid peered around the ebony sand, seeing it studded with crystal stars of quartz. "Where does she live?"

Tauriel pointed to the hill in the island's interior.

"Let's try the high ground first, and then – "

The elf stopped dead, dropping her hand and turning to face something over her shoulder.

"She's over there, Sigrid. She's coming our way."

The young woman lifted her pale eyes to the skyline, and sure enough – a faint silhouette was approaching them from the shadowy headland – approaching at a speed and gait that was quite uncommon in someone so bent and old.

Seeing her companion checking her blade was still on her belt, Sigrid took a deep breath and studied the wizened woman as she scuttled across the shore to greet them. Either this creature might aid her ailing heart, or she would crush all hope forever. And who knows if she would stop at that.

But as the witch neared, Sigrid felt a stab of disappointment. There were no tattoos or skulls around her throat, nor throngs of black cats or crows – just a sad, sunken face with misty, grey eyes, and an unusual woollen cloak, made of some red and black checked pattern that Sigrid had never seen before.

A smear of something red coated the witch's lips – too thick and greasy to be blood, and more like the slick of paint that clung to the edge of Tauriel's boat.

She looked tired and feeble to Sigrid's eyes, as she ambled across her black, wind-blasted beach.

Yet the elf stood in silent, respectful acknowledgement, waiting patiently for the woman to arrive.

"We came here to meet you, in friendship and in peace, my lady. We would have an audience with you, and hear your wisdom." Tauriel's voice was smooth and courteous, and she bowed her head low in greeting. "My name is Tauriel, and I am a warrior from the Woodland Realm. This is my friend Sigrid, the eldest daughter of Bard – the new king of Dale."

The witch stood before them, and smiled rather sadly.

"Then welcome to my island shelter, both of you. You may call me... Lyn." The old woman pushed her veiny hands into the pockets of her battered, woollen robe. "And how do you think I can help either one of you, my dears?"

Sigrid tried to pinpoint the woman's accent, but found she couldn't. It was utterly alien – not a voice like that of any woman she'd ever met – even those from faraway lands to the West and South. And nor did it have the melodic structures of the fair folk, or the rolled consonants and broken vowels of a dwarfish speaker. It was a mystery. Just like the woman's exotic, shabby clothes and pointy-heeled, leather shoes.

The elf spoke first, bowing her head again. "My lady, we have heard much talk of your power to summon the spirits of ancient days, and learn their secrets. We have heard talk that you alone in the world can commune with the dead and make them walk again."

The old woman stared at the elf's pointed ears, and nodded her head softly in reply.

"I don't doubt that's what you've heard. But do you think it's true?"

Sigrid regarded the woman more critically, shaking her head.

"We hoped it might be true. Both of us have lost someone dear to us. Someone we loved." The young woman brought her pale eyes up to meet the witch's mournful gaze, and saw the woman focus on her keenly. "Can you help us?"

The old lady stood for a time on the beach, considering Sigrid's simple plea – and shrugged her shoulders in reply.

"The two of you better come with me. We can talk someplace more sheltered from that wind. And I'll tell you both just what I can do for you."

The two travellers glanced at each other, and followed the witch as she turned and made for the headland once more. She led them up a steep bank, and further into the island's interior – marked by the appearance of long grasses – bleak and bent from the force of the wind as it tore across the lake unhindered. Until finally, she led them into the mouth of a large cave, scored out of a flat path on the hillside, like some long lost grotto left high and dry – miles from its mother ocean.

Inside the cave, tallow candles burned bright, casting an uneven, fitful glare across the damp stone walls, and lighting up the simple wooden furnishings in the woman's abode. The old woman pointed to some chairs, and sat herself down. And with a sigh, she waved her hand about the cave.

"Look around you, my dears, do I look like someone with the power of life over death? I can barely afford the goods I buy from your Laketown market – despite all the wealth I once had." The woman smiled, and tried to focus her milky eyes on her two guests.

"I'm not from round here, you know. I'm a stranger to your ways – and I'm too old to learn them. I'm just waiting here for death myself – and one of these days, when Arthur stops coming with supplies – maybe I'll find it, and go back home."

Tauriel and Sigrid exchanged a look, unnerved by the witch's apparent willingness to talk of her travels to the afterlife.

"Where do you come from?" Sigrid's eyes were drawn to a small statuette on a low table. A small, porcelain figurine stood in the middle – of a serene woman in pink and blue robes cradling a smiling baby. She'd never seen these foreign gods before."Why are you here?"

The elf cocked her head, and turned her green eyes to the old woman.

"We heard that you come from far away, my lady. Is it true? Are you from a distant part of this world? Or from the land of the dead itself?"

The old woman grinned suddenly, and leant back in her chair, shutting her eyes.

"The land of the dead? Am I that much of a fright to behold?" She opened her eyes and spoke softly. "I'm from further away than you can dream of, my dears – and I've been waiting here half a lifetime, to go back home. To go back to reality. But reality seems to have a hard time finding me here, and the door we came through has gone. It wouldn't open for me – or any of the rest of them when they went back to the water. So I stay here."

She waved her hand. "And now your town is gone, my dears, I fear all my friends – my companions – they'll not be coming back. I've not seen them for weeks now, and my supplies are dwindling."

The elf raised an eyebrow at her young friend, tilting her head pointedly. And from around her neck she unclipped a delicate silver pendant, with a shimmering white stone at the centre. Holding it out as a gift to the old woman, the elf bowed her head.

"Take this jewel, my lady. I have no need for this talisman anymore. Its meaning has been lost to me. But if you take it through the streets of Dale – which Sigrid's father shall soon rebuild – and trade it with the dwarves of the mountain, you will find you will want for nothing. There is no need to stay here, alone, if you do not wish."

The old woman took the elven pendant, and stared at it in awe. "I don't want this, child – it looks dear. Maybe you should keep it, trade it yourself, and – "

"No." The elf spoke decisively. "It's a gift. For you. And in exchange, we want you to show us the way to the dead. Tell us, can we bring them back? Or talk with them? It's all we want to know."

The witch sighed. "They were killed in the fire?"

But Sigrid shook her head. "No. It was after. They were killed in the battle... by their enemies. Murdered."

The witch sat back. "I'm sorry, my dear. I had a young man once, you know. He was killed – in the war. On the beach. And I found out on my eighteenth birthday." A small, thin tear trickled down the witch's wrinkled cheek. "I don't know where he is now, any more than I know where your menfolk are."

"They were dwarves," insisted Tauriel. "Of the royal line of Durin. Surely, they shall have gone to wait in the Halls of Mahal after death? The feasting halls of their ancestors? A place where we can never go!"

But the witch shook her head. "I don't know any magic halls, my dear. I only know this world, and my own – and this is like a fairy story as it is. So maybe there are others – all within touching distance – but all completely alone. Maybe sometimes you can crossover, like we did. And maybe there are other ways too – in death. We can only hope."

Sigrid frowned. "You mean, you can't bring our friends back? You don't know where they are?"

The witch nodded, her face sad. "I wish I could help you. But I'm no magician. You can only find them yourself – out there, in the future. Maybe there is no way." The witch stretched her hand out, pointing to the waters of the lake, still visible through the mouth of her cave home. "Or maybe the only way is to die yourselves."

The elf looked at her sharply. "What was this door you spoke of, my lady? How can we open it? Where does it go?"

But at this, the old woman laughed bitterly.

"I've asked those questions for half a lifetime and got no closer to the answer." She swept her eyes around the room, and stared into the flame of her yellow candle.

"If you want to see your loved ones again, you can only go forward. Go forward, with your memories of their love in your hearts, and one day that love will be returned to you."

Sigrid felt a tear creep down her own face. She didn't want to go forward – how could she? The future was terrifying, and as barren as a winter mountain. She couldn't go back to Dale, and live her life there waiting... for what? To forget? To make her peace with never seeing Fili again?

The elf's face was ashen. "Is there no way to find them? No way to find the door? To break it down, and force it open?"

The woman stared back at the green eyes and frowned.

"If there was, I would have done it myself, long ago."

Tauriel stood, her face desolate.

"Then we must bid you farewell, my lady. We have a long journey back to the shore, before nightfall, and we should leave now – we have taken enough of your time."

Sigrid stared after the old woman, feeling pity in her heart.

"Come back with us. We can find you somewhere warmer to stay than this. My father – "

"No, thank you." The witch spoke resolutely. "This island is the only connection to my world – this is where we came down. This is where we came ashore. I will stay here and wait, and one way or another I will see my home again."

She stretched her hand out, offering the necklace to Tauriel. "Keep it, my dear. It's too late for me. But there is always another chance for someone as kind-hearted as yourself."

Shaking her head at the old woman, the elf took back her jewel, stringing it round her neck with an unhappy nod.

"Thank you for your audience, my lady. I hope you find what you are looking for."

The old woman turned to the pair of them, her misty eyes glowing grey in the dim light of the cave.

"May nothing but happiness come through your door, my dears. I wish you well for the journey."

Sigrid nodded her head at the woman, longing suddenly to be on the water, and far from this island. Coming here had been pointless, she now knew.

What had been taken from her heart was gone for good, and could never be replaced.

And she'd been a fool to ever think it could be.

The two friends picked their way back to the black beach in silence, each of them lost in thought. Until they came back to the little rowing boat, lying desolate on the flat expanse, marooned on the sand like the sad wreck it was.

Sigrid sniffed, fighting back the tears that were threatening now reality beckoned.

"I didn't think she could help. How could she? I mean, they're dead. We can't be the first people in the world to want to bring people back – and have you ever seen any?"

The elf sighed, grabbing at the boat and throwing it towards the waves.

"It was worth a try. And I won't give up." The elf looked out at the lake, a tear trickling from the bright green eyes. "I'll find this door. I'll find him somehow."

Sigrid eyed the lake, feeling cold and miserable. The sky had clouded over whilst they'd been with the witch, and a bitter breath now lay on the wind.

"Let's just go, I need to get back to my family. Before they worry."

And as the two of them piled dejectedly into the boat, the young woman turned her gaze homewards, searching the lake for a view of the Lonely Mountain.

But of course, from this side of the island it was invisible, and her eyes stung with disappointment – until their boat rounded back past the headland, and she turned in hope to see it once more.

But it wasn't there.

Her entire view of the northern shoreline was gone, obscured from view. Blocked by a thick band of low, rolling cloud.

And even now, the surface of the lake was growing choppy, with a lurch to one side in the boat that hadn't been there just moments ago.

"Tauriel," the woman whispered, eyeing the storm nervously.

"I know. I see it."

The woman cast her eyes back to the craggy island, wondering if they should turn back, and try to reach the blue skies that shimmered behind them.

But something else caught her attention.

Back on the island, back on the summit of the blasted headland, she thought she could make out the small shadow of the old woman, watching as their boat made straight for the gathering tempest.

Her arms were outstretched, and Sigrid wondered if she was beckoning to them.

Or hailing the storm.

The sight made her shiver.

"Maybe we should go back? Back to the island?" Sigrid could hear the nerves in her voice now, as she felt the boat lurching harder on the swell. Her nausea returned in a moment, and she covered her mouth with her hand, on the verge of retching.

"I'll take us back."

The elf began to paddle hard with the big, wooden oar, but they didn't move any closer to the island.

Panic rose in the woman's chest.

"Tauriel, we're going the wrong way!"

The elf gave her a thin smile, as her red hair streaked behind her on the wind.

"I know! There's a current in the water now. It's dragging us further out."

Sigrid thought of all those rocks lying in wait, like knives ready to cut their boat asunder, should they get too close. She clutched at her stomach, feeling her body ball up in response to the sickening, rocking motion.

And on cue, a bright yellow flash of lightning tore through the sky ahead of them, ripping across the lowering clouds as their boat was dragged towards the rocks.

"Stay down, Sigrid!" The elf tucked her oar away, and crouched beside her friend. "It's attracted to tall things. If we stay low, it will hit the rocks instead."

Sigrid nodded, feeling the elf take her hand.

"Once the storm passes, I'll row us back to the shore. It'll pass as quickly as it's come."

All around them, the thunder growled. The young woman hid her eyes as the lightning forked overhead again – closer this time.

She squeezed the elf's hand, and reached into the folds of her apron. And there, in the pocket, she found it.

Fili's wooden star.

The star he'd carved for her the day he died, as a token of his love. As his promise to her.

And as she rubbed her finger over the seven spokes in turn, the tears flowed freely in her eyes, and she let the grief overwhelm her. He was far away from her now, for evermore, and there was no bringing him back. Not here – not if she waited a thousand years.

There was only one direction of travel.

And as she gripped the talisman, a strange, fizzing feeling took hold of her body. She felt her senses being sharpened to an apex of absolute clarity – far beyond the mundane, mortal world she knew lay around her. There was something else there, coexisting next to her – she could almost feel its phantom structures and colours as she felt her mind reach out beyond her thoughts...

"Sigrid?"

She heard the fear in her friend's voice beside her, and squeezed her hand even tighter. And as the young woman felt the hairs on her arms stand on end, and the field of static crackle around her head, she knew.

She _knew_.

That the lightning was coming now, and nothing could stop it.

She closed her eyes as tight as she could, and let the low, whirling hum fill her ears with a strange, propelling drone.

A drone that only grew in pitch and volume, until she felt her whole body vibrating with the shuddering, rolling hum, as she waited in vain for the lightning bolt to strike home...


	7. Final Approach

**Author's Note:** I originally was going to have this as the last chapter, but I've had to revise a bit after writing it, as there was too much I wanted to fit in. So maybe two more after this one! :)

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: Final Approach**

She felt the scream before her eyes had opened.

And when they did, she realised that the high, brittle wail assailing the air was her own.

It vibrated right through her – amidst the droning, rolling pulse she could feel with her feet through the shaky floor.

Sigrid's pale eyes snapped back to life, and she let the scream die in her throat. She found herself staring into a cool, grey gaze – inches from her face – studying her with a look of calm interest.

"Miss Dale? Look at me. Take a deep breath. It was all just a dream."

Sigrid blinked her eyes, but the scene didn't change.

She was surrounded by elegance – sitting in a long, airy room that was bathed in a strangely beautiful blue light. All around her, red velvet seats and dark oak panelling met with richly-dressed, elegant people – staring at her sideways in shock and alarm.

And kneeling down in front of her was the most glamorous woman Sigrid had ever seen.

Her lips were painted blood red, drawn into a dazzling smile as her cool grey eyes took in Sigrid's fear and panic. With one hand, she offered a glass vessel filled with a frothy, heady liquid – and with another she patted Sigrid's knee.

"Have a glass of _Cuvée Juline_ , Miss Dale. It's way past noon back in London, and I won't tell if you don't."

Sigrid drew the small glass to her lips and took a sip of the fizzing medicine.

It was like nothing she'd ever tasted before – floral and fragrant, with a dry strength that burned the back of her throat. It was some kind of wine, she realised – and she took another sip at the woman's prompting.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Sigrid twisted in her seat, trying to catch sight of something familiar. The room was lined with rows of windows, but all she could see through them was a turquoise glow – there was no sign of the Lonely Mountain, nor the crooked streets of home.

The woman flashed another smile, and pointed to the window beside them. Sigrid followed her hand, and felt her heart skip a beat in her chest.

There was nothing outside the window at all.

Just blank, blue skies and brilliant white sunlight.

They were in the air – in the sky!

"We're currently over the Sargasso Sea, Miss Dale. Three and a half miles into the clouds, and four hours away from Kingston." The woman squeezed Sigrid's knee, and rose to her feet.

"Captain McPhee says it's clear skies all the way to Jamaica – so sit back and relax. Enjoy the view. And let me know if I can make you more comfortable."

Sigrid realised the woman was leaving, and grabbed at her hand in panic.

"But... where is everyone?" She scanned the room, searching for a familiar face amongst the peering, strangers' eyes. None of them looked like they came from Laketown – and none of them looked very friendly.

The woman shrugged and gestured ahead. "Your friend is in the lounge – having a good time. You should go too. Take your champagne."

Sigrid looked around, feeling helpless. Which friend did she mean? Who could she know here, in this bizarre place?

Seeing her hesitation, the woman smiled. "Leave your worries on the ground, Miss Dale. Feel the freedom of the skies – the _Star Ariel_ knows how to keep her secrets."

And with a knowing wink, the stewardess spun around, and strutted across to an elderly couple, effortlessly switching to some foreign tongue Sigrid didn't know.

Settling back in her seat, the young woman sipped again on the frothy wine, feeling the bubbles lift some of her apprehension. She stared out the window – and sure enough – down below she could see the flat, green mass of the open ocean – sparkling and radiant under the azure skies.

It was like a dream. Peaceful, serene, and beautiful. And only the growling drone shaking through the floor told her she was wide awake.

But what was this place?

She stared down the aisle, wondering how to find the lounge – wondering who was waiting for her there, and how they'd expect her to react. She didn't know where she was – or who she was. Why was she sitting in a vibrating room over the sea?

She looked at her clothes, marvelling in their strangeness.

Gone was her tattered dress and walking boots. Even the blue woollen cloak she always carried had disappeared. Instead, she was wearing some knee-length, black skirt and a cotton blouse – with dainty high-heeled shoes on her feet.

But as she stood and made for the lounge, she swayed and gasped. She could hardly walk in these things – or on the bouncing, rolling floor.

She staggered down the aisle and through a door, and into another narrow chamber, barely noticing where she was going – until she felt herself lose balance when the floor lurched upwards.

But before her feet gave way completely, a hand grabbed her arm, hauling her up as another one steadied her waist.

She heard a man's voice behind her.

"It's okay, miss – mind the table."

Sigrid stared ahead, and saw a fully set table – one she'd been launching towards. She was in a dining area, by the look of it. Everywhere around her lay sparkling glasses and silver cutlery.

All bathed in the same ghostly green light from the glowing ocean miles below.

She felt the man release his grip, and turned to thank him. But as she saw him, she was struck dumb, and the smile died on her lips.

The man behind her was Fili.

She knew it.

She'd recognise his face anywhere – even in this strange place.

He was taller than she remembered – he was taller than she was now – and the golden braids and scruffy beard were gone. His hair was a shade darker, and his figure less built – but it was undoubtedly, unmistakeably him.

She felt herself start to shake.

She saw his blue eyes light up in mirth as he saw her staring, and in an instant she realised that he didn't recognise her at all.

She turned away quickly, fighting back sudden tears, and felt his arm again on her shoulder.

"Sigrid?" There was concern in his voice.

She blinked, trying to hold her composure. "How do you know my name?"

His voice was teasing. "I know lots about you."

He squeezed her shoulder, and Sigrid turned back to face him. And just behind him, she saw the others.

"Your friend's been telling me lots of stories. And as a matter of fact, I was just coming to fetch you." He rolled his eyes. "Not much fun in being a third wheel."

Sigrid stared past him into the cabin and saw Tauriel and Kili sitting at a dining table. They were dressed differently – but somehow still looked the same.

They were clinking glasses of the frothy wine together, and laughing at some joke – until Tauriel caught sight of Sigrid, and waved her hand in greeting. The smile on the red-haired woman's face grew suddenly serious, and she beckoned them over.

Beside her, Fili offered his arm.

"Shall we take a seat?"

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded and stared wildly at Tauriel. The elf – no, the woman – raised her glass in salutations and giggled.

"Hi, Sigrid. I'm sorry I left you all alone – I did try to wake you." Her green eyes swept over the dark haired man across the table, and her voice slowed and lowered in tone.

"I saw someone I thought I recognised."

Sigrid sat down beside her friend, nodding slowly. "So I see. Aren't you going to introduce me then?" She scanned Fili and Kili, fascinated by how tall they were now, and how clean-shaven.

Was this another one of her dreams? How could this be real?

Tauriel cleared her throat. "Well, I see you've already met Corporal Philip Cohen. He's travelling on family business with his brother here – Lieutenant Kelyn Cohen."

Sigrid saw Fili's eyes shining at her from across the table, and felt herself blush.

"Please, just call me Philip."

"And you can call me Kelly." The man with the smouldering brown eyes raised his glass and gave her a roguish grin.

"We're going to Jamaica to see family."

"Our uncle has sent for us."

"We don't normally travel like this, that's for sure."

"But our uncle insisted."

The two brothers laughed, and Sigrid stared hard at her flame-haired friend.

"What do you last remember?" She hissed. "Do you remember the lake?"

"I remember everything." Her friend gave her a fixed smile. "I woke up, and I was here – just like you. Don't ask me what's going on."

Sigrid tried to smile and relax, but all she wanted to do was stare at the man sat opposite. She could feel her face burning with the swarm of feelings around her heart, and for a second she wondered whether she might scream again. This was all too much for her to take in.

If this was a dream, it was certainly the most convincing one she'd ever had. Or was it some kind of afterlife – some kind of heaven – up here in the clouds...

She decided to take a good sip of the fizzy wine, and just let her eyes rest on Fili.

And he was watching her too.

"Sigrid, have we met before? You look familiar somehow."

She shook her head, scared to speak the truth aloud in case she made herself wake up. Or in case he thought she was stark raving mad.

But despite her inner panic, she somehow had an answer to his question. She heard her words flow smoothly without a second thought.

"I don't think so, Philip. I grew up in Llanelli, in Carmarthenshire. You don't sound like you're Welsh?"

"No, I'm not. Me and Kel are from Dorset originally." He took a sip of his champagne, and frowned. "We moved a lot as kids, around England – and France. But never to Wales."

His frown subsided, and the smile returned as he looked back at her. "I hear it's a lovely place. Do you speak Welsh?"

"Wrth gwrs fy mod." She grinned. "Et vous pouvez parler français?"

"Naturellement, notre père était Montpelliérain."

"Your father _was_ from Montpellier?"

She had no idea how she knew these words. None of these languages were her own, common tongue from Laketown. And nor did she know where these places were – she'd never been to Wales, and hardly knew whether it was lovely or not. But still, the words came fluently, giving Sigrid the unsettling feeling that someone else was speaking through her mouth.

Or worse – she was inside someone else's head.

She felt her hand tremble, and put her glass down to rest her fingers safely on the table. But Fili – or Philip – didn't seem to notice.

"Our father was killed in the war. He worked closely with the Resistance. Spying, for the Allies."

"I'm sorry."

He stared at her solemnly, and she recognised the expression on his face as the one he'd given her on the beach, weeks ago. Or had it been longer than that?

He must have seen her sympathy, for he smiled sadly back.

"Thank you. But you don't have to be sorry. That's not the effect I wanted to have on you."

She met his eyes, wondering what he meant, and saw him blush. He looked down at the table suddenly, and took a sip of his own glass.

"So tell me Sigrid, what brings you to Jamaica? Are you travelling to see family?"

She glanced over at Tauriel, wondering blindly what she'd said to the pair of them already. But like before, the words formed without any conscious effort, and Sigrid found she knew the answer.

"You've met Tara, my friend. She's a biologist at UCL – Dr Tara Grünwald. She's won a research grant. A big one. She's conducting some fieldwork around the island, studying crocodiles in the mangrove swamps. I'm her assistant."

The familiar blue eyes widened.

"You're kidding? Flying out this way to look at crocodiles? I hope you know what you're doing."

Sigrid shrugged, grinning. "We'll have gloves. And local guards with guns. It's nothing. Not compared to being a soldier anyway."

Fili nodded slowly. "To tell you the truth, me and Kel are intelligence officers. We don't get to see much action anymore." He frowned. "Not normally anyway. But I have the feeling things might be a bit different in Jamaica. You should be careful, Sigrid. And not just with the crocs."

Sigrid blinked, feeling a chill at his words.

"You're not in danger, are you? I thought you said you were on family business?"

But Fili just waved his hand.

"We are. But it's part of the job. Me and Kel – we're going to a funeral. Our grandfather's. He was found dead at his home in Kingston last weekend. In... suspicious circumstances."

Sigrid stared hard at Fili, trying to decide what he was not telling her.

"You mean he was murdered."

Fili turned and stared out of the window, ignoring her remark, and Sigrid followed his gaze.

"Do you remember that plane that disappeared last year? The _Star Tiger_? It must have been about here that it hit the ocean."

Sigrid stared out at the creamy white clouds, and the endless deep blue of the sky. From where she was sitting, the sea was invisible, and it was easy to believe it wasn't there at all.

"I've never heard of it."

Fili turned back to look at her, and for once she couldn't read him.

"Sometimes it's hard to tell whether things are accidental or not, Sigrid. Sometimes it's hard to see where the danger is coming from. But you know it's there, all the same."

She set her glass down, worried now.

"What danger? I don't understand."

Fili shook his head. "Neither do I. Not yet. But my uncle should be able to fill us in on a few things" He set his glass down on the table beside the ice bucket. "And I should be able to find you some good people for your croc-hunt, if you'll let me. Somewhere to stay, too."

He flashed her a glance, and Sigrid found herself smiling. Whenever they reached this Kingston, she had no intention of letting him out of her sight. And she was starting to realise the feeling might be mutual.

"You said you thought I seemed familiar, Philip. Why? What made you say that?"

He studied her face, thinking silently.

"You remind me of someone – but the funny thing is – I don't know who. Maybe I dreamt about you." He gave her a crooked smile. "You're not a spy, are you?"

Sigrid tilted her head. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On what I have to do to make you sing."

He watched her, and picked up his glass.

"I don't think you'd have a problem with that."

He stared into her eyes, and Sigrid didn't know whether the floor had dropped again or whether her heart had leapt out of her chest – but she knew what his look meant.

She felt suddenly dizzy.

"Philip, would you excuse me for a moment?"

He smiled at her, sipping his wine.

"Not at all. I'll be right here. There's no escape when you're three miles high."

Sigrid stepped up carefully, wondering where to go. And beside her, Tauriel saw her stir and made her excuses.

"I'll be back in a minute, Kelly. I'll show my friend to the powder room."

And Tauriel hooked her arm through Sigrid's and marched her briskly down the aisle, and through another set of doors.

The room was much smaller, and perfumed. Doors on one end led to smaller cubicles, with a porcelain washbasin in the corner. There were no windows, but a pleasant, rose glow shone down through filtered lamps on the low ceiling.

"Tauriel, what is this? Is this real? This can't be!"

Sigrid stared at her friend, hoping her elven intuition had it all worked out. But the red-haired woman just grinned from ear to ear and put her fingers to her mouth.

"It's definitely real. This isn't a dream, Sigrid. I don't have dreams where I'm... not an elf."

The green-eyed woman caught her reflection in the mirror, and giggled.

"Do you feel different? Do you like it?" Sigrid tried and failed to imagine how it would be to wake up and find she was no longer human.

Tauriel studied her face in the mirror, running her finger over the round tips of her ears.

"It's a bit like having a really bad hangover. Like all my senses have been dimmed." She turned back to her friend, and grinned. "And I don't care. Because Kili's here!"

Sigrid stared at her own reflection, trying to decide if she looked better with all the paint on her face. She'd certainly caught Fili's attention.

"I don't think Fili remembers me, Tauriel."

She thought about him sitting out there, in those dull, stiff clothes, and wondered if he remembered anything about his old life. Was he someone else now? Was he a ghost?

An idea struck her.

"Tauriel, do you think the witch brought us here? I know she said she didn't have any powers, but maybe she was just testing us? We could be dead, in some afterlife. I mean, whatever this place is – it must be magical. We're flying!"

Her friend ran her fingers through her long red hair, watching it uncoil and spring back under her hand. It was the same vivid colour as before, but cut shorter, and styled into bouncy, soft curls.

"Maybe this is her world, Sigrid. Maybe we found her doorway after all. Or it found us?"

Sigrid looked around, scrutinising the decor. And a rather unpleasant thought came to her.

"Do you think, we're stuck here then? Like she was stuck by the lake? Do you think we'll ever be able to go home?"

Her friend's green eyes drifted onto her slowly.

"I don't know. I don't know where we are. Would you even want to go back?"

Sigrid swallowed, thinking about her father, and her siblings – and all the friends she'd left behind in Laketown. What would they think had happened to her?

But she shook her head, frowning. She'd understood she was making a choice when she'd set off in the snow.

"No. I don't think I would." She blinked at herself in the mirror, realising she meant her words, and feeling all the more confused for it.

"But Tauriel, if _we're_ here – who are we? I mean, I know that my name is Sigrid Dale and I come from Llanelli, and I work as a secretary – for you. And I can just about remember the house I grew up in, by a brewery in a town called Felinfoel, but... they're not _my_ memories! So, whose are they?"

But her friend just shook her head.

"I don't know. I have them too. Maybe they belong to someone else. Someone who's just woken up in a rowing boat on the middle of a stormy lake. Maybe not. Either way, you can't change anything. And you said yourself, you wouldn't want to." The red-haired woman raised her eyebrows.

"I've seen the way Fili's been looking at you. He's obviously interested. Maybe he doesn't remember who you were – but does it matter? He still feels the same for you."

She turned her green eyes back to her reflection in the mirror, and smiled."I know Kili's still the same."

Sigrid stared at herself – her new self – in the mirror. It wasn't how she'd have chosen to dress or style her hair, but it wasn't a stranger's face that gazed back either. She looked sharper, and older somehow – with her brightly painted lips and her black eyelashes. A thrill of excitement ran through her, as she studied her new face.

She could be whoever she wanted to be here. She was free. With a whole new world to explore.

And Fili was just outside, waiting for her.

Despite the shock she still felt – and the confusion – she still recognised her own, pale eyes shining back from the mirror. She was still herself. And she wasn't alone in this strange, new place.

She found herself giggling, just as Tauriel had done.

"Did we really do it? Did we really find them?"

Her friend hugged her tightly.

"Yes! I don't know where we are, but we've found them. They're alive here, in this world – and so are we!"

Sigrid nodded, and felt the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

"Let's go back to the table. I feel like I need to keep watch on them, or they might disappear again."

Her friend smiled faintly. "Did you hear what happened to their grandfather? It's his funeral they're going to. They said he was poisoned." She shook her head at her friend. "I don't know much about this place, but I don't like the sound of any of this. I'm staying right by Kili's side, no matter what happens."

The redhead stared at her friend in the mirror, watching as she frowned. "Come on then, let's go back. They'll know we're talking about them in here."

Sigrid smiled. "Do you think they're talking about us?"

But Tauriel just raised her brow and smiled slyly.

"Of course they are."

And the two women joined hands and stumbled their way back to the dining area, feeling hopeful and light-hearted for the first time in weeks.

Oblivious to the danger that was almost upon them, as the plane tore onwards through the lonely white clouds towards its final destination.


End file.
